Hold My Hand
by Eliatra Sabre
Summary: After successfully retrieving Andraste's Ashes, Elissa Cousland, Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana stop at an inn for the night-resulting in plenty of teasing for Alistair and a few surprising revelations. One-shot.


_A/N: I've been replaying Dragon Age: Origins in my post-Christmas free time and rediscovering all the cuteness that is Alistair. This is set shortly before he actually declares his love to F!Cousland, during the tail end of the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest. I felt inspired by the team's banter, so here you go-a bit of fluff for the holidays!_

_#_

**Hold My Hand**

_#_

High in the Frostback Mountains, four gore-spattered travelers emerged from Andraste's tomb and blinked at the snow-bright landscape. The flush of success at retrieving the prophet Andraste's ashes mixed with the exhaustion of too many hours spent battling without rest, and multiple injuries set everyone on edge. They began the short trek across the valley to the rest of the ruined temple, murmuring to each other in low voices so as not to arouse the dragon slumbering far above them.

"We did it! I still can't believe you actually found her, Warden!" Leliana whispered brightly. The Orlesian bard had volunteered to carry the ashes, placing them securely in a hidden pouch beneath her breastplate.

"I couldn't have done it without you all," Elissa Cousland murmured over her shoulder, cradling a fractured arm against her chest. She'd been doing well on the injury front until their earlier confrontation with Kolgrim, the leader of the dragon-worshiping cult sequestered in the caves. His heavy battle axe was responsible for her arm as well as Wynne's concussion and Leliana's bruised—maybe broken—ribs. Alistair's gradually worsening limp and swelling eye was thanks to the four or five adolescent dragons they'd slain while making their way through the caves, and _those_ had left them all with the sulpheric, pervasive stench of dragons. The fact that they were all still walking around was due in large part to Wynne's healing capabilities, and where those fell short, their own ability to push away the pain until later.

"You all did well," Wynne added, stumbling a bit as they approached the steep section of fallen bridge that led back up to the temple entrance. Alistair, ever the gentleman, offered the elderly mage his arm to begin the climb.

"All right, there?" Elissa glanced back, then froze. A distant shift of purple caught at the edge of her gaze, and she instantly looked up to the plateau they'd last seen the dragon resting on.

It was bare.

Her green eyes narrowed, scanning the steep sides of the valley. They were in no shape to handle an adult dragon right now, least of all one that might very well have been indulging in human sacrifices lately. A screech ricocheted off the stone cliffs, and a dark shadow passed overhead.

"Go, go, _go!_" The Grey Warden waved her companions forward, all pretense of silence vanished with urgency. Adrenaline kicked through her veins, blood roaring in her ears as she chased them up the bridge, boots sliding across patches of ice. A horde of Darkspawn would have been a more welcome sight than the monster soaring overhead right now.

_Almost there, almost there… _Leliana was the first to reach the door, and she tugged frantically at the door pull, struggling as the door stuck against the jamb. Alistair reached her just as the dragon swept low behind them, a screeching roar throbbing through the air. Heat—and then orange flames, tongues of fire—

Alistair heaved at the door, falling backward as it swung open, and looked back to see Elissa diving ahead of the dragon's flame, her armor catching fire as she crashed into the stone floor.

Alistair grabbed her hand and practically hauled her through the doorway, gasping as Leliana slammed the door behind them. The dragon's enraged roars echoed outside, leaving them all breathing raggedly in the relative silence of the room. Smoke rose in wispy trails from Elissa's armor, and she patted herself self-consciously as she tried to catch her breath.

"Elissa," Alistair said slowly, "When I said I was cold enough to want to start a fire, I didn't mean _you._"

Leliana was the first to chuckle, and between the exhaustion and the fading adrenaline rush, the other three were soon giggling with her as they began to slowly trek back to the temple entrance.

#####

"You think Brother Genitivi's keeled over from frostbite after all this time?" Elissa muttered under her breath as they finally walked down the steps into the main entrance hall, tracking through the snowdrifts and past the bonfire still crackling in the center.

"Have respect, child," Wynne chided, then smiled wryly. "He's been through far too much already to let a little cold stand between him and the Ashes."

Sure enough, the good Brother was ecstatic to see their return and appropriately enthusiastic at the pinch of ashes in Leliana's pouch. They left him studying the carvings in the temple and began to wind their way down the mountainside, keeping an eye out for leftover cultists in the odd hamlet of Haven but finding nothing.

By now, late afternoon was bearing down and light flurries of snow had begun to fall, changing the narrow path to shades of gray and white.

"I don't think I can feel my toes anymore," Alistair complained after they had been hiking downhill for what felt like hours but was probably only forty minutes or so.

"In your case, that might not be a bad thing," Leliana remarked from behind, where she was taking a turn helping to support Wynne. "I can feel my ribs far more than anyone should be able to."

"How far are we from camp?" Wynne wondered. Elissa glanced back and noted her graying features with some concern.

"At least another eight hours' walking, if I remember correctly. We left them at the foot of the mountain." The four of them had hiked in to Haven the night before, which felt like an eternity ago. _Not a bad day's work, actually,_ she thought approvingly. _Kill some dragons, wipe out a cult, rescue a Chantry brother, find a relic of Andraste, survive…_

"Wasn't there a little village we passed between camp and Haven?" Alistair interrupted her musings with a hopeful look in his gray-blue eyes. "One with an inn? The Tipsy Shepherd, or something like that."

"I think we can make it back to camp before midnight," Elissa said, mentally calculating the terrain. It was mostly downhill, so they'd be able to go faster than the trip up had been…

"An inn," Leliana said rapturously. "With beds. Real _beds._ Imagine sleeping on a mattress, Wynne, rather than in those drafty tents on the hard ground…"

"It has been a while," Wynne said wistfully.

"Not that we're pressuring you or anything," Alistair said, with an air of genuineness, "but I think it would do us all good to sleep somewhere… warm." This last was said with such longing that Elissa glanced over to see him in full puppy-eyes mode.

"All right, all right," she gave in, allowing a smile as Alistair beamed in triumph. "I suppose we can spare a few sovereigns after what we've been through today."

#####

The hamlet of Garivan was everything Haven hadn't been: warm and inviting, with the scent of hearthfires and stews hanging tantalizingly on the breeze. Twilight was fully upon them when they walked in the door of the Tipsy Shepherd. A brass bell jingled overhead as they stomped the snow off their boots and sighed in the warmth of the tavern's dining room, just soaking in the heat until the proprietor—a sturdy woman with graying hair—introduced herself as Gina and offered them dinner.

"I think I'm finally thawing out." Alistair sighed happily as he dug into a bowl of the lumpy stew the innkeeper had served them.

Even Wynne seemed to be regaining some of her color. "I'm glad you insisted on this, Alistair."

"I didn't really insist," he said coyly, nudging Elissa's good arm. "It was all thanks to our dear leader."

"So I'm a miser," Elissa joked good-naturedly. "Just think of all the gold we could've saved if we were still out there, hiking back to camp to sleep in our own beds."

"Our own hard, cold, rocky beds," Leliana corrected with a smirk.

"It makes me wonder why we don't do this more often," Alistair suggested.

"Because," Wynne put in dryly, "the rest of us would have nothing to gossip about if we didn't know who was sharing each other's tents."

"Who was sharing—? _Oh._" The tips of the templar's ears flushed bright red. "But we don't—No one—I mean—I've never shared _anyone's_ tent!" he protested, clearly flustered.

"This much we know already," Leliana teased.

"Never, Alistair?" Elissa twirled a wisp of her deep auburn hair around one finger and leaned into him, a laugh struggling to emerge from her throat. "Not even… _Morrigan_?"

"Dear _Maker,_" he choked. Leliana and Wynne were contorted with laughter, leaning on each other for support, and Elissa burst out laughing at his horrified expression. "You're not serious…are you?"

"She'd _love_ to know you fancied her," Elissa giggled. Alistair still seemed to be stuck on the thought of sharing any kind of personal space with Morrigan.

"She's just so… so… _witchy,_" he said with distaste. Then Elissa's comment registered. "_Me?_ Fancy _her? _Impossible. I mean, if there's anyone I fancied…"

The three women fell silent, Leliana wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Yes?" Elissa prompted expectantly as he gazed among them, seeming to realize what he was saying.

His ears turned even brighter red, if such a thing was possible. "I mean, I _don't_, but, but…oh, stuff it." Abashed, he rose from the table, stuffed a coin in the innkeeper's hand, and fled to the safety of one of the rooms upstairs.

"Now you've done it," Leliana chided playfully. "Now we'll never know who he fancies."

"I should think it was obvious already," Wynne remarked, a slight smile touching her eyes as she glanced toward Elissa.

"What, me?" the Warden said in surprise. "I'm sure it's—it's only flirtation, Wynne. That drake must have smacked you harder than I thought." She grinned.

"Perhaps," the mage said with a shrug, seeming willing to drop the issue.

Paying the innkeeper for their rooms, the three retired upstairs, murmuring goodnight as they parted company. Elissa slumped onto her mattress, still in armor, listening to the pound of blood in her ears in the sudden silence. The innkeeper had thoughtfully placed a pan of coals under the end of the covers, and the Warden was suddenly anxious to remember what warm feet felt like.

Standing again, she prepared to shuck off her armor when the stab of pain from her forearm reminded her of the day's exertions. Gingerly, she pulled off her gauntlets and worked out of her breastplate, a little awkwardly with only one hand to work the buckles. Her forearm was turning a repulsive shade of reddish-purple and, now that it wasn't restrained by the plate gloves, it pounded obtrusively. Wynne probably had one of her special broken-bone potions, but the arm would have to be wrapped first to stabilize it overnight. Between bleary eyes and the sudden flush of pain, Elissa decided it would be best to get some help wrapping it rather than doing a botched job herself.

Stepping out of her boots and pulling on a light robe, she padded down the hallway and put an ear to Wynne's door. Soft snores indicated that the mage was already fast asleep, and there was no light flickering from under Leliana's door, either. However, a faint glow emanated from under Alistair's, so she gently knocked on the door and listened for a reply.

"Who's it?"

"Elissa. I need you—"

The door opened in her face, and she blinked up at him, his features shadowed in the candlelight. "…to wrap my arm," she finished softly. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." He ushered her in and shut the door behind them, moving to his pack to rummage through it for bandages and a poultice.

She perched gingerly on the edge of his bed and cradled her arm, trying not to think about the fragments of bone floating around in there. She could behead Darkspawn all day, but when it came to her own injuries, she found herself somewhat squeamish. Trying to find a different train of thought, she glanced at her companion as he plucked items from his pack and noticed he'd changed into sleep pants… and no shirt. It was a decidedly better view than her mangled arm.

Alistair turned, bandages in hand, and kneeled in front of her, sandy brows knit in concentration. He set the cloth down and gently took her arm, fingers probing it with expert care as she grit her teeth and tried to focus on the stray hairs on his crown shining gold in the dim light.

"Not so bad," he appraised, catching her eyes reassuringly. "Nothing sticking out of your skin, anyway."

"That _is_ good to know," she drawled. "I like to keep it that way."

"Me, too." He retrieved the poultice flask and poured some of the thick solution into his hand, then smoothed it over her arm. The cooling sensation instantly relaxed some of the muscles in her back she hadn't even known she'd been tensing.

"You know," Alistair remarked, rubbing in the poultice to make sure it absorbed, "you look a lot smaller without all that armor on."

"That's the idea," she smiled wanly. "No one would be afraid of me if I ran out on the battlefield in this." She held up her other arm and waved at her robe, a soft thing she'd splurged on in Denerim.

"I like it," he said, then flushed and tried to backtrack as he picked up the bandage. "I mean, it's just that it's _different_ and—"

"Alistair."

"What?"

"Thank you." He met her eyes, surprised, and smiled back in gratification.

He finished wrapping her arm in silence and helped her to her feet, taking one last look at his handiwork.

Suddenly not wanting to leave, Elissa glanced down at his foot, noting his own wrapped ankle. "How are you feeling?"

"Anxious. Sweaty… oh. You mean my foot." He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Better. I took one of Wynne's things, you know, those potions that make you feel wonderful until you go and break something else."

"Your eye looks better, too," she noted, reaching up to brush the fading bruise.

Alistair softly captured her hand as she pulled away, then held it between them as if he'd caught a bird and wasn't sure what to do with it. "Elissa," he started, seeming to search for words, then continued, "thank you. For, ah… well, for today. For going through all that just for one tiny pinch of ashes. For taking me with you… for saving us all. Saving me."

"From what?" She was fairly sure he didn't mean the dragon.

"The Darkspawn. Myself. This whole bloody thing, you know. Waking up every day to another round of insults and hardships and problems… it just… well, it wouldn't be worth it if you weren't here, by my side." He seemed to run out of steam, then, and loosened his grip on her hand—ready to let her fly away, if she wanted.

"I feel the same way," she whispered, and suddenly wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his heart.

Surprised, he froze for a moment, then tentatively enfolded her in his arms, letting one hand curl into her hair.

"Alistair?"

He didn't move. "Yes, my dear?"

Something in her chest uncurled and warmed at his words, at the gentleness and care within them. "Thank you. For being who you are, and believing in me… and for holding my hand through all of this. Even when it's broken."

She felt his lips press against the top of her head in a soft kiss and the heard the light thrum of his voice in his throat.

"You're welcome."


End file.
